Mercy
by Crave Kashmir
Summary: An old Yiddish proverb states that 'Man plans, G-d laughs.' Both Ron and Hermione find this saying to be irritatingly accurate.


A/N: The iPod has proven inspirational again. This time it's Mercy by Duffy. Seriously, what are they putting in the water over there that gives these Brits such powerful vocal chords?

As always, constructive criticism is endlessly appreciated, but kindly restrict your comments to the story, plot, grammar, punctuation, canon errors, etc. Ta!

* * *

Mercy

Sitting to the far left of the couch, book in her lap, Hermione Granger appeared no different than she did on any given evening after a hard day's work. Appearances were deceiving on this particular evening, however, because Hermione Granger was seething. From her place on the couch she could look into the bedroom and see her boyfriend frantically throwing his clothes on after his sprint of a shower, eager to get out the door as quickly as possible. His bloody shirt was even on inside out, she noted.

"I'm off," Ron said.

"I thought we were having a night in," she replied, somehow managing to keep her voice even. She set her book aside and stood to show him just what she had in mind, her hand sliding up his chest.

"Uh, no," he practically squeaked as he caught her wrist and pulled her fingers away. "I said I'd meet the boys."

"Right," she said slowly, her eyes narrowing as he turned away. He had not met her eye as he said it. He was lying.

She would have known that even if he was capable of beguiling her. 'The boys' included Harry. When Harry went out, Ginny came over. And Ginny had not contacted her about getting together all day. Ergo, there was no meeting up with 'the boys'. What she needed to find out was who Ron really was meeting up with.

"That git picked the wrong witch to step out on," she informed Crookshanks and stomped through the door, casting a Disillusionment charm on herself as she went, vanishing from sight as she tailed her letch of a boyfriend through the streets toward Diagon Alley. Despite being invisible, she pressed herself against the wall and peered around a corner; Ron had nearly finished his Auror training and would doubtless recognise the faint shimmering that always gave Disillusioned quarry away. He glanced over his shoulder before ducking under the awning of the new bistro.

Her knuckles felt as if they were about to spring apart, her fists were clenched so tight. She had been wanting to eat at that restaurant since it opened, hinted and left a menu on their counter, suggested it for her coming birthday, but still he had just shrugged as if it didn't interest him. Yet he was happily meeting someone else there? She stalked across the cobbled street and glared through the window. He was there, talking to a woman in a dress the same shade of burgundy as the bistro's tablecloths. Hermione scoffed at the woman's lack of imagination and watched as she took Ron's arm and led him away from the windows, gesturing with long burgundy nails at different tables. She imagined the woman's insipid conversation, whining that she wished they could have a better view; Ron probably hedged and insisted on sitting far back where no one would come upon them.

Her eyes stung but she refused to cry. She had faced worse horrors than deceit.

"Well, I'll have the last laugh, won't I?" she said to herself and spun around, marching back to their flat to plan her attack.

Part of her wanted to wait, gather more evidence or perhaps arrange a trap to ensnare him. She thought of herself as rational, but her heart was breaking and her impatience could not be put off longer than the following morning. It was Saturday, the one day that invariably followed one of three routines:

Hermione would rise early, make herself breakfast and read until she woke Ron around eleven when they would make up for all the nights he came back from training too tired to make love. Around three, they would have a late lunch and they would sit together on the couch, he reading the Quidditch recaps, she one of her books.

OR

Hermione would rise early, make a breakfast to lure Ron from his dreams by nine, make up for being too tired, shower, dress and go to the Burrow or Harry's house to visit for the rest of the day.

OR

Hermione would rise, make breakfast, let Ron sleep until he rose on his own, make up for being too tired and they would go to Diagon Alley to eat and shop.

Yet this particular Saturday, when Hermione stretched lazily in bed, her arm fell not on the solid body of her boyfriend but on barely warm sheets. Ron was awake. He was awake before her. He was awake and functional before her.

"What is going on here?" she muttered and leapt from bed, racing from the bedroom to catch Ron shoving a slice of toast into his mouth as he moved toward the door. "WAIT RIGHT THERE!"

"'Mione?" he said through the dry toast. "What are you doing up?"

"I could ask the same of you."

"Just meeting the boys," he said.

"You met them yesterday," she replied sharply, "at Bistro La Luna. They looked quite fetching in that dress."

The freckles seemed to darken on his face as his skin drained of colour. She could actually hear him swallowing, though there was nothing left in his mouth for him to force down. "Y-You saw that? I can explain… uh… that was Michelle. She works, uh, for George, yeah, and was there with him for a drink. She… uh… was letting me know he was in the loo…"

"Tell me, Ron. Has she been meeting George for a drink every night this week? Because you've been coming home a lot more worn out that usual since last weekend."

"Bloody hell, 'Mione, where is this coming from?"

"You flinch whenever I touch you, Ron," she shouted, reaching for the nearest item and hurling it at him along with her accusations. "What are you trying to hide from me? Love bites? Scratches? How long have you been sneaking around with that woman?"

"Wh—"

She shouted over his weak protest, "If you don't want to be with me anymore, at least have the decency to let me know!"

"N—"

"I'm not just some mindless bint you can keep on the side, Ronald! I need a proper partner, one who actually _wants_ to be with me."

Ron's reply was lost when the door opened and their friend walked in, the wards on their flat letting the young man through without sounding any alarm. "When you told me to be here early, I didn't think it would be to referee," Harry commented with a small yawn." What are you two on about?"

"Your best mate is a bastard," Hermione declared. "A lying, cheating bastard."

"'Mione," Ron mumbled. "No, I—"

"Oh, just tell her, Ron," his friend said. "I knew you wouldn't be able to hide it for long. She's too clever and you're a rubbish liar."

Ron's eyes grew enormous as if begging Harry to stop talking. Hermione saw and turned on the black-haired boy she thought she had known well. "You knew about this?"

He said nothing to her, keeping his face impassive though Hermione swore she saw a bit of smirk pulling at his mouth. "Tell her, Ron, before she hexes us both."

"But I had it all planned," he muttered before issuing a defeated sigh and sticking his hand down the front of his tee-shirt. He brought up a necklace, a gold chain that she had seen peeking out from beneath his shirts all week but thought nothing of, assuming it was just something his mum had given him the previous weekend in private. He looked dejected as he pulled it free and let the chain and pendant fall against his chest. She studied the pendant and understood why he had been keeping her at arm's length all week; he had not wanted her to see it, to feel it beneath his clothes.

"That's a ring," she said, her voice hushed.

"I had it all planned," he said again. "I was going to take you to that restaurant, met with Michelle about which seats would be best and all. Was going to hide the ring in your pudding…maybe the champagne glass, still hadn't decided on that bit. It was planned, Hermione; you'd've loved it."

"I do love it," the young woman cried and launched herself at him.

"But what about the restaurant?"

"I don't care about the bloody bistro," she said and shoved him for being so stupid. "I care about you. Why did you let me think all those awful things?"

"I didn't know what you thought I was doing…"

She sighed and shook her head. "Have some mercy on me next time you plan a surprise, get Ginny to help. She would have known to come round and pretend you really were going out with 'the boys'."

"Wh—I didn't think—"

"Shut up and kiss me, Ron," she laughed. "And give me my ring."

End.


End file.
